In other words
by Relativity1953
Summary: Sam never seems to sing the right words
1. in other words

_**Flyin' the Bat Plane is sure to make the news on time.**_

At first he thought it was kind of cute – not that he would ever tell Sammy that. How could he? The kid sang the words with such passion and sincerity (and at the top of his lungs), so content and excited to be walking home with his big brother after having dreaded this morning for the last couple of weeks. His first day of the first grade.

He had told Dean that last year, kindergarten, didn't really count as school because it was only half a day and on a completely different schedule and in a totally separate building from the _real_ school (which simply meant that he wasn't on the same schedule or in the same building as Dean). The kid had been so worried that no one would like him, that he wouldn't know any of the answers to the questions the teacher asked, and a whole laundry list of other worries that Dean had found equally ridiculous – not that he would ever say that to Sammy either. But, he had been reassuring the kid for a month, spent a couple of afternoons walking Sammy to the school and showing him the building and the playground and even the first grade classroom (from the window, anyway), explained where the fourth grade classroom was located (even drew him a simple map and knew Sammy now kept it in the front pocket of his backpack for safe-keeping) and told him that he could come to his big brother whenever he felt it necessary.

The shakes and tremors that had wracked Sammy's little body just that morning were no longer present by lunchtime. They sat together at a corner table in the lunchroom and Sammy told Dean how things were going, how he really liked Miss Fisher, how he had already made a couple of friends (pointing them out as he told his brother their names and random facts about each), how things were going really well. And, by the last bell, Sammy practically pounced on Dean when he got to the classroom and hadn't stopped bouncing the entire way out of the school.

Now, walking home, Sammy was loudly singing the song Dean had listened to that morning while getting them ready for school. It had been on the radio and Dean had sung along as he made them both breakfast. Now Sammy sang it, excitedly, proudly, because he knew it was a song Dean liked, and because it seemed the kid had single-handedly devoured the state's supply of sugar (not that he'd had more than a chocolate chip cookie's worth of sugar all day – Dean made sure the kid ate right). How could Dean spoil his mood by telling him he was singing the song wrong? Besides, he kind of liked Sammy's words better.

_**'Cause I'm eating lots of snails off the window pane.**_

Sometimes he thought it was kind of endearing – not that he would ever tell Sammy that. Not the sensitive kid who worried that he wouldn't ever make friends at his new school (because, apparently at their new school in their _new_ state, if you didn't make your friends last year in _first_ grade you were destined to never have friends throughout the rest of your school career in this town) and became embarrassed by even the slightest hint of someone maybe, possibly, perhaps laughing at him (a little). Dean had enough to worry about – he just would have to make sure and not listen to Ozzy in public. Wouldn't be a big deal. After all, Dad's current hunt didn't have that extended-stay feel to it. And maybe their next town would allow second graders to make friends with new kids.

_**And my tires are seldom clean.**_

Sometimes he thought it was kind of amusing – not that he would ever tell Sammy that. Sammy took everything so seriously... far too seriously for a fourth grader. He was certain _he'd_ never been that serious – like, ever. The kid was smart, but that didn't stop him from reading through all of his school assignments twice, finishing his homework and checking it _and_ asking Dean to check it, doing any and all extra credit assignments he was able to.

He knew Sammy enjoyed school, but he thought the kid was getting a little obsessed. It really couldn't be good for you to like school _that_ much.

_**It's a half-assed Ford and I'm shaving years.**_

There were times he thought it was a bit pitiful – not that he would ever tell Sammy that. Not the _I'm not a baby anymore, Dean_; _Don't call me Sammy, Dean_; _It's __**Sam**__, Dean!_ little brat who had recently replaced his sweet little brother. It's not that he needed to be Sam's hero big brother who could make everything better just by his presence alone. Sure, it was nice, but he knew that the hero-worship would die down eventually. But he hadn't expected his little brother to suddenly not need him at all, not want him around, feel held back by his bothersome older brother.

His little brother, his best friend had suddenly outgrown him. He often felt he wasn't worth Sam's time (or at least that what he thought Sam felt). There had even been a few _I hate you_s thrown his way, and he would never tell Sam, but that was what hurt the worst.

_**Dirty things done with sheep.**_

At times he thought it was pretty weird – not that he would ever tell Sam that. But sometimes he just couldn't understand what his little brother was thinking. At Sam's age he was already going on some hunts with Dad and always asking for more – and if he couldn't do the actual hunting, he'd try and help with the research. He learned everything he could about demons and ghosts and other monsters, about their habits and tendencies, about how they were created, and how to take them out. He knew not only how to fire an assortment of weapons with deadly accuracy, but also how to disassemble and clean and reassemble and load them all so they were in tip-top shape.

But Sam didn't seem interested in any of it. His little brother was content to stay home and read _Hamlet_ rather than help them hunt the ghostly Dane King who was haunting his son, _Frankenstein_ instead of assisting them in finding and destroying the golem wreaking havoc all over Colin Town, or _Watership Down_ while ducking out on a jackalope hunt in Sandleford.

_**Guitar Bob is my Rock and Roll fantasy.**_

There were a few times that he thought it was a little disappointing – not that he would ever tell Sam that. He was starting to worry about Sam's hearing and/or comprehension. Sure, he knew the kid was getting excellent grades, but it seemed everything else was slipping. And that included the kid's sanity.

Or maybe it was all a new game he didn't know about, a new class Sam was excelling in: How to piss off Dad 101. And, man, Sam was good at that. He questioned everything now-a-days. Everything was a battle. And, if the little vein in Dad's forehead was anything to go by, Sam was clearly winning.

And really, what happened to the sweet little boy who looked up at his Daddy like the man hung the stars and knew the secrets of the universe? Or the kid who thought his big brother was Batman and eagerly took on the role of Robin? What happened to his Sammy?

_**I want a piece of bacon.**_

There were times that he thought it was just wrong – and part of him kind of wanted to tell Sam that. There were days that he was sure his little brother had been replaced by a pod person. Example 1: complete lack of respect for Dad. Example 2: delusions of grandeur.

And let's talk about that one for a minute... Sam (and we won't even get into the whole ginormous, taller than older brother, taller than Dad thing) had taken on a pretty high and mighty attitude lately. He argues about everything, not thinking for a moment that he could possibly be wrong (um, yeah, and he thinks he can't possibly be related to Dad?). He seems to crave his cherished _normal_ like most people need air. Oh, and apparently the Winchester way of life is so far beyond wrong that he loses all ability to speak – which is actually not such a bad thing because, at least, he stops talking/yelling/complaining for a while.

_**Herb broke the salt shaker. I've even sold a few.**_

A lot of the time, he thought it was really irritating – and he kind of wanted to tell Sam that. He probably would have if he wasn't spending so much of his time prying Dad and Sam apart (seriously, they had come to blows a couple of times already) and placating each in turn. He used to enjoy his role as the middle Winchester, the one would take care of his dad after a tough hunt, make the family dinner, help his little brother with his homework – it had made him feel useful once upon a time.

Then came the days when he was old enough to hunt, serving as back-up, and really helping Dad make a difference. When Sammy was old enough to join them, he was able to keep both his father and brother safe. And, really, that's all he'd ever really wanted to do.

_**Stove's getting hotter, fire in the pie.**_

Most of the time, he thought it was completely infuriating – and he longed to tell Sam that. But honestly, Sam and Dad fought about anything and everything anymore and he really didn't have the energy to add more fuel to the fire. And lately, the fire was a never-ending, raging inferno. Everything was a battle and he was either in the middle trying to break it up and being ignored, or dragged into the middle by the two of them, both wanting him to take their side.

When they were younger, Dad had a look – one that said _Talk your brother into this, Dean_; _Make sure he does that, Dean_; _Keep him safe and out of trouble, Dean_. Somehow Dean was able to bargain with the kid or make him understand or just trick him (reverse psychology worked until Sammy became Sam) into doing what Dad said without Dad ever having to tell Sam himself.

A year or two ago, Sam would have come to him secretly to try and manipulate him into taking his side. He complained of homework and big tests and important school functions, and that he could not possibly go on this hunt. And Dean would cave because he was an over-protective sap and his little brother knew this. He would talk to Dad calmly and, more times than not, Sam was allowed to skip a hunt.

But now, Dad and Sam decided they were finally ready to get rid of their middle-man. The only problem was – they also got rid of the person who would actually listen to each of them.

_**No one knows what it's like to be the Batman, to be the Batman behind blue tights.**_

There were times when the hunt, the job, the life became almost more than he could handle. It felt as if, for every helpless person they helped, every innocent person they saved, every lost person they found, there were a dozen more that they had failed. And in the end, what did they have to show for it? Mom and Dad were still gone, as was Jess. His little brother was drawn back into the life he clearly hated, had lost the last little spark of life left in his eyes when he was made to watch his girlfriend burn. They were on the run from various police and one very determined FBI agent. Not to mention the complete lack of any sort of social life.

So why did they do it? Why do they even bother? Why did his little brother stay with him when all he did was screw up the kid's life? And why, WHY, did Sam never seem to know the right words to any song? Songs that he had to have heard a million times – because Dean was his older brother, after all. And he knew that Sam knew the words to this one – he had always sung them right in the past...

He looked over to the passenger seat to find his giant of a little brother crooning the song _to_ him, serenading him with a slight smile on his face, just visible behind the flashlight he was using as a microphone. He wasn't sure who had actually lost it – Sam or himself. But then he listened to the words his brother was singing...

_**But ice creams, they are walnut-ty. And my costume's ceased to be.**_

There were times when he felt like giving it all up – not that he could ever do that. After all, they were fighting the good fight, doing what needed to be done, the family business. And, as long as he had Sammy by his side (singing insane lyrics to songs just to make him smile and snap out of the brooding mood he had fallen into), everything would be all right. It wasn't cute or funny or embarrassing or exasperating – it was just Sammy.


	2. notes

**Notes:**

The songs/lyrics destroyed in this fic are...

* * *

_Flyin' the Bat Plane is sure to make the news on time._

"Life in the fast lane/surely make you lose your mind" (The Eagles)

* * *

_'Cause I'm eating lots of snails off the window pane._

"'Cause I'm going off the rails on the crazy train" (Ozzy Osbourne)

* * *

_And my tires are seldom clean._

"And my ties are severed clean" (Metallica)

* * *

_It's a half-assed Ford and I'm shaving years._

"It's a half-past-four and I'm shifting gears" (Golden Earring)

* * *

_Dirty things done with sheep._

"Dirty deeds and they're done dirt cheap" (AC/DC)

* * *

_Guitar Bob is my Rock and Roll fantasy._

"It's all part of my rock and roll fantasy" (Bad Company)

* * *

_I want a piece of bacon._

"I wanna be sedated" (The Ramones)

* * *

_Herb broke the salt shaker. I've even sold a few._

"Heart breaker, soul shaker, I've been told about you" (Nazareth)

* * *

_Stove's getting hotter, fire in the pie._

"Smoke on the water/fire in the sky" (Deep Purple)

* * *

_No one knows what it's like to be the Batman, to be the Batman behind blue tights..._

_But ice creams, they are walnut-ty. And my costume's ceased to be._

"No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man behind blue eyes...

But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be" (The Who)


End file.
